He Who Fucks Nuns Will Later Join The Church

I feel like I avenged myself tonight. I had a setlist. I had themes. I had callbacks (planned). I had a dead pope joke. By the way, I was feeling reverential this afternoon, and tried to create something that expressed that reverence and respect for God. This is how it turned out. Listen.

By the way, it was Pope Formosus.

(Bam-A-Lam) Damn Thing Gone Wild (Bam-A-Lam)

For the last few weeks, Othello's has been packed. Leah wondered recently if we had created a monster. Perhaps we had. The whole thing had grown and changed in ways we never planned. That's chaos, baby. In fact, last week it was so clogged with people that I didn't even have a seat. It was so loud that I actually shouted "SHUT UP!" at the audience. They didn't shut up, by the way. Then afterwards, Ana told me she was planning to plaster campus and Campus Corner with flyers to try and get more people into the bar. I'm not sure that more people is the answer, but it's not my bar.

I was not really excited about the prospect of more people crowding into the bar tonight, making noise and not paying attention. And as such, I didn't really prepare myself at all. So, I felt like a total douche when a small, attentive crowd showed up for the show. I felt bad about the quality of my performance. Oh, well. I recorded it, though. You can take a listen if you like.

Listen Here

I Care, I Swear.

Two years ago a quarter of a million people died in a massive tsunami. Millions were left homeless, stranded, orphaned and destroyed. At the same time here in Oklahoma, I was contemplating ending a two-year relationship with my then girlfriend, and I was ashamed to be breaking up with someone the day after Christmas. I was trapped inside my head, going over the reasons behind my decision, thinking and rethinking the situation. I had no idea what was happening in the Pacific Ocean. All I could see was what was going on in my little world: the impending heartbreak, the betrayal. And I felt guilty, and scared. In fact I was dreading it terribly. Once it was finally over and done with I felt relieved, as I'm sure most people do after a relationship is over (whether they want to admit it or not). I went to bed, woke up in the morning, and finally realized that while I was playing out my little drama, a quarter of a million people had died in the kind of terror that no one should be subjected to. I woke up and the world slapped me in the face. I woke up and realized that my fear and my pain were not the Greek tragedy I thought they were. My trauma was banal, and insipid, and utterly pedestrian. Sometimes it's the night sky that makes us feel small and insignificant, and sometimes it's the knowledge that 250,000 of us can be wiped out in the blink of an eye.

I still feel bad about it. I don't regret that I ended a long term relationship like I did, when I did. But rather, I'm ashamed that when I saw news stories about the anniversary tonight, and when I think about the tsunami, I think of it against the backdrop of my own personal problems and "issues." Two years later, and the deaths of two hundred and fifty thousand men, women and children are still inextricably tied to my own emotional trauma.

That makes me feel petty, and vain, and arrogant. And it reminds me that I'm human.